


Some things change, some stay the same.

by Miri1984



Category: Cracksmash - Fandom, Marvel Comics - Fandom, The Avengers (2012)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-20
Updated: 2012-11-20
Packaged: 2017-11-19 03:05:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/568363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miri1984/pseuds/Miri1984
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Birthday Present for the awesome Historymiss who shares my Bucky and Steve feels.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some things change, some stay the same.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [historymiss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/historymiss/gifts).



The first time they meet it’s in an alley and he’s getting beaten up and everyone knows that’s not unusual. The skinny kid from the orphanage on eighth has a habit of picking fights, it’s a well known fact, but never do they tell the people who circulate that fact that the fights would never be picked if the people he was fighting were _fair._

Fair is a strange word these days. One that Bucky thinks really needs a new definition. It’s not fair that his dad died and wasn’t even in a war. It’s not fair that his sister is going to school and he isn’t. It’s not fair that the family she’s going with didn’t want “another boy to feed, they’re enough trouble as it is in this day in age”. 

It’s not fair that he’s going to be going to the orphanage on eighth and it’s not fair that kids like this little scrawny one are getting the crap beaten out of them for daring to stand up for what’s right. 

Bucky’s been told often enough that he shouldn’t use his fists to solve problems, but the thing is about his fists, is that they’re _good_ at that. They’re good at making trouble too, no doubt, but God knows his brain isn’t up to much, he’s not like Becca which is why he’s stuck here and she isn’t…

…that thought pulls him up short and he has to swallow, hard.

Steve - the kid’s name is Steve - is like a firecracker ready to go off, about to punch _him_ in the face and Bucky thinks that’s the attitude of someone who isn’t _used_ to being helped, and that ain’t fair either.

“Pick on someone your own size next time ya punks!” he shouts after them once he’s handed them their asses. The skinny kid gets a few punches in too, they don’t do much, but it’s good to see he’s not afraid of getting up and into it; the kid’s got guts despite his size.

“How long have you been in the orphanage then?” Bucky asks, as they walk down the street, not going anywhere in particular, it’s not like they’re cashed up, but sometimes the shopkeepers will give a job to a boy who’s willing to do a bit of running and Bucky has a feeling that dimes are gonna be scarcer now, here, than they ever have been before.

He feels comfortable with the kid. They’ve won a victory together, and Bucky guesses that makes them friends, even though he’s never spoken to him before. Bucky has had friendships based on much less.

The kid shoves his hands in his pockets. “A year or so. It’s not bad. Really.”

“Well, that’s a relief, since I’m moving in next week.”

“You are? That’s great! Um.” The kid realises what he’s said and Bucky almost laughs. “No. It’s not great. I’m sorry. Your folks…?”

“Yeah, they’re not around any more. Few things to clear up first then I’ll be your roommate.”

“Well, I’m real sorry about that, Bucky,” the kid sounds so freaking sincere that Bucky almost laughs out loud. Like a tiny, skinny grown up, all serious and big eyes and no damned idea.

 

That part never changes.

Twelve years later Bucky is catching hell from Phillips about his imprisonment and all he wants to do is sleep. It feels like he hasn’t slept since they stood on the hill and saw the first Hydra weapons fire, it feels like he hasn’t slept since he said goodbye to Steve at the station, it feels like he hasn’t slept since before the war started, and Phillips is just _on_ at him, what did they do to you, what did you see, how did Rogers get you out, what are their weapons and it’s all he can do to put one word in front of the other without passing out.

“He’s told you everything, Colonel,” Steve is at the door.

“Standard procedure, Captain,” Phillips says, but there’s an edge to his voice that Bucky hasn’t heard from him before.

“With all due respect, asking him the same questions over and over isn’t going to get you different answers. Sir.”

Phillips looks at Steve, then at Bucky, who flinches under his gaze. He hasn’t told him everything, he’s not going to tell him everything and there isn’t a damned thing Phillips can say that’s gonna change that. No way he’s letting it end up in a report that Steve has any chance of reading - the needles, the experiments, the other… _specimens_ he’d seen before Steve had walked in and carried him out like some dame in a story…

Phillips knows there’s things Bucky isn’t saying and Bucky knows Phillips would give his right arm to get everything out of him but Steve just stands there like a rock and doesn’t budge, all muscle and oozing sincerity and Bucky feels stupidly grateful and resentful and overwhelmed all at once.

“I’m real sorry about that, Bucky,” Steve says as they walk out, as though it was Steve’s fault, as though getting captured and pneumonia and beat up and experimented on was something Steve, personally, could have stopped from happening if only he’d been there and… well. Bucky is keeping it together, walking upright and feeling pretty good until he hears Steve speak ( _so fucking sincere)_ and then he just wants to roll over in a ditch somewhere and… 

…not cry. But certainly have some alone time.

 

Seventy years later and it _still_ hasn’t changed.

“I’m real sorry about that, Bucky,” he says, big serious eyes in his stupid big serious face. _Sorry._ As if everything that happened after the train was Steve’s fault. The idiot probably thinks it _is._ “I really am, but I can’t go back and change it and I wouldn’t if I could.”

“You…” Bucky doesn’t even know where to _start_ with him. “You just don’t get it, do you, Steve?”

Steve looks at him, eyes boring into him, and Bucky imagines that he’s taking in the arm, taking in the lines on his face, taking in the deaths that he’s caused and… and… _not giving a damn_ and Bucky doesn’t know if it would hurt more if he _did._

It would make more sense.

But Steve never did make much sense.

“You’re better than this,” Steve says. The words cut Bucky to the bone and he shuts his eyes and shakes his head.

 _I’m not,_ he thinks, but he doesn’t say it out loud. 

Seventy years and he still can’t bear to disappoint him. 

That part hasn’t changed.


End file.
